


Rememberance

by ISingTheSkyElectric



Series: Sheith Month 2018 [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Meetings, Galaxy Garrison, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hover bikes, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Sneaking Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 22:58:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15205337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ISingTheSkyElectric/pseuds/ISingTheSkyElectric
Summary: It’s his dad’s racing hover-bike.Keith doesn’t know how she ended up in the Garrison’s garage with not a scratch on it. Last he saw her, the thing was covered in dark ash and half-melted from the scorching heat. She had barely carried him and his father out of the burning desert.“Nice bike, isn’t it?” a voice says, jerking him out of his memories.A officer stands behind him. His slate gray jacket does nothing to disguise his bulk, pants tucked into shined boots only emphasizing his height. He’s got a large black bag in his hand. Black hair peeks out from under the dark beret on his head, and his gray eyes stare at Keith.Keith is fucking screwed.





	Rememberance

**Author's Note:**

> Day 6: Pre-Kerberos  
> Day 8: Hover-Bike  
> Day 9: Physical Touch
> 
> This is like 3 prompts in 1, so thus the weird posting date. You could see this as platonic or pre-slash, up to you.

The Garrison is not home. Keith hasn’t had a home since The Fire. He has always named it The Fire in his head and he knows he always will. Thinking about it beyond the heat and crackle of the flames and the burning smoke in his lungs is too painful. He throws himself into his classwork, into learning and studying and flying. He avoids the other people, shying away from their friendly smiles and open hands. He’s fully aware of the risks if he gets too close.

Keith doesn’t exactly enjoy his time at the Garrison. The strict schedule and the narrow gray hallways are a touch too similar to the Home for him to fully relax. He enjoys the science and math courses, even if explaining his answers and showing his work is difficult for him. English he hates with a burning passion; too many possible answers that revolve around explaining your argument is his idea of hell. PT is by turns enjoyable and dangerous; he’s best in his squadron, which also means he’s the one to beat. The one highlight of his week is flying in the simulators, even if the courses they run through are laughably easy.

Occasionally sleep doesn’t come easy. He tosses and turns under the thin sheet the Garrison provided, staring around the room lit only by the deep red of his one of his roommates’ alarm clock. His skin buzzes with restless energy, limbs itching to move and run. 

The clock shines 23:28 in bright red numbers. It’s been an hour and a half since the lights went out and Keith’s nowhere close to falling asleep. He stares at the bottom of the top bunk bed, tracing the wire squares with a finger. He could sneak out of the room, go for a run around the track. He could go and do a run in the simulators, try a more difficult course. He could head for the roof and gaze at the stars like he and-

He cuts off that thought immediately. He’s still too full of pain and grief to try that.

Letting out a silent sigh, he pushes himself up and off the bunk, trying to keep the bed from squeaking as much as possible. One of his roommates snorts and Keith stops, heart pounding in his chest. He waits for a minute, two and breathes a sigh of relief when no one asks him what he’s doing. He slips on his boots and grabs his cadet jacket and belt. If he gets caught wandering around after curfew, being out of uniform will make his punishment worse. Hopefully they’ll ignore his non-regulation pants.

Keith slips through the hallways, light on his feet. Years at the Home has taught him how to be quiet, how to listen and quickly hide. He forces his breathing to be slow and long, rests his weight on the balls of his feet. Boots are harder to move in, weighing him down, but manages to balance the drag with longer strides.

His job gets infinitely harder once he enters the main building of the campus. There are still officers and teachers awake in the building, wandering around and talking in groups. Keith sticks closer the walls, ducking around corners and under windows. His heart’s pounding in his ears, making it more difficult to pinpoint where voices and footsteps are coming from. He has to double-back twice to avoid officers.  
One pair of footsteps starts to trail after him and he can’t lose them. Keith ducks and winds through the hallways, forcing his breath silent. He’s moving farther away from the simulators but he needs to lose his unaware tail. The hallways down here are darker, lights dimmer with less doors and corners to hide in. 

The next hallway he ducks into his a long one. It stretches on forever, uninterrupted. Keith chances a glance behind him and catches the shadow of a person, footsteps echoing after him. He lets out a silent string of curses and darts down the hallway, praying that his footsteps are silent enough to go unnoticed. His heart is pounding with the rushing adrenaline. 

He spots a door, flush with the wall. Keith breathes a sigh of relief and ducks towards it, pressing the button to open it. The door slowly slides wide and he darts through, jamming the button to close the door. It closes just as slow but manages to cut off the sound of following footsteps. Keith holds his breath, praying that no one comes through. After a heart-pounding minute, he relaxes, feeling the adrenaline drain and leave his limbs slightly shaking. He lets out a breath and turns to find out where he ended up.

The room is enormous, ceiling arching up high and the metal ridge beams exposed. The floor is a cold gray concrete that reflects the hanging lights. What draws Keith’s eyes the most is the rows of vehicles lined up.

It’s common knowledge that most of the older officers and teachers live off the campus. Most of them reside in El Espacio, a small town almost twenty minutes away. Most of the vehicles Keith sees must belong to the commuters. There’s a group of large ATVs in the corner with the Garrison logo plastered on the side, but a majority of the vehicles are various hover-cars and hover-bikes. They’re mostly variations of the same gray and blacks, all coated with a thin red layer of dust that covers everything in the desert.

Keith finds his feet moving as he walks down the rows of vehicles. Each one is easily twice his size in height, ion lifts underneath the size of his arm span. He’s rarely seen one up close; the Home only had a few and the children weren’t allowed to get close unless they were going for a ride. He wants to reach out and touch but he knows his hand will leave a clear mark in the dust. 

He catches a flash of red out of the corner of his eye and feels his heart stop. Keith cautiously sneaks closer and feels his breath leave him at the sight in front of him.

It’s his dad’s racing hover-bike. 

She’s still the same bright red she used to be, white accents shining bright in the garage lights. The power lights are a dull translucent but he knows they burn an electric blue when the engine is on. The 01 on the tail seems to stare at him as he slowly inches closer. 

He doesn’t know how she ended up in the Garrison’s garage with not a scratch on it. Last he saw her, the thing was covered in dark ash and half-melted from the scorching heat. She had barely carried him and his father out of the burning desert.

Keith watches his hand reaching out and touch the handle. It’s hard under his grip, unyielding, and he can feel his dad help him wrap his tiny hands around the bar. “Hold tight,” his father whispers, voice deep with a twinge of an accent. 

“Nice bike, isn’t it?” a voice says, jerking him out of his memories.

Keith reels back, pulling away from the bike. His heart beats a loud double-time, throwing itself against his ribs in a bid to escape. Breath seizing in his chest, he spins around.

A officer stands behind him. His slate gray jacket does nothing to disguise his bulk, pants tucked into shined boots only emphasizing his height. He’s got a large black bag in his hand. Black hair peeks out from under the dark beret on his head, and his gray eyes stare at Keith.

_He is fucking screwed._

Keith’s body reacts for him, snapping into attention, back straight and hand at his forehead. He can feel his breath sawing in his throat, heart dropping into his stomach.

The officer raises an eyebrow at Keith. “At ease, cadet. I’m not going to punish you.”

Keith drops his hand, back still straight. “I’m sorry sir. I’ll head back to my room. You won’t see me here again,” he forces out of his aching throat.

“Actually,” the officer says. “I was hoping you’d help me.”

Keith blinks, thrown for a loop and mind scrambling to catch up. “Excuse me? Sir,” he adds.

The officer smiles warmly at him. “I could use an extra pair of hands. If you know about hover-bikes, that would be even better.”

Keith stares as the officer moves past him, circling around the bike to the other side. The officer sets down his bag. “I-I do. Know about them. Sir,” he stammers out.

“Good,” the officer replies, shrugging out of his jacket to reveal a pair of muscled arms and a t-shirt. He drops the jacket on the seat. “And you can drop the ‘sir’ stuff. Call me Shiro.”

“Yes, si- Shiro,” Keith answers, still trying to adjust to the new rules of this conversation. He’s not being punished, he’s not being kicked out. He’s been asked to help. This was something he did not expect.

“What’s your name?” Shiro asks as he kneels down to peer under the bike’s nose.

He hesitates, then answers. “Cadet Keith Kogane.”

Shiro grunts. “Well, Keith. You should probably take off your jacket so it doesn’t get dirty.”

Keith pauses, then undoes his belt and shrugs out of his jacket. He folds it and carefully places it next to Shiro’s on the seat. “What’s wrong with her?” he asks Shiro, who has unzipped his bag to reveal it full of various mechanics tools. 

He pulls out a screwdriver and sets to work undoing the panel under the bike’s nose. “I’m not sure. It barely starts before makes a screeching sound and dies. I’d like to get it fixed so I can go into town and grab food.”

Keith frowns. “Why do you need food from town? You can eat at the chow hall, can’t you?” He immediately snaps his mouth shut, bracing for a sharp retort or a insult. He knows he’s not supposed to ask questions, _why did he open his stupid mouth?_

Shiro just lets out a chuckle. “Yeah, I do. But I get some snacks from in town. I get hungry in between meals.”

Keith stays silent as Shiro peers into the insides of the the bike’s engine compartment. If he can figure out what’s the problem and fix it, maybe Shiro won’t report Keith’s sneaking out in exchange. Even though Shiro said he won’t, Keith knows that people lie. This person isn’t any different.

“Start the bike,” Keith says to Shiro.

He pulls out from under the bike, blinking in surprise at Keith. “What?”

Keith nods at the bike. “Start her. I want to hear the problem.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow but follows Keith’s instructions. He pulls the bike’s starting button from his pocket and presses it. The engine roars to life, power lights flickering blue and nose rasing from the ground for a second. Suddenly, there’s a large clanking sound and a loud screech that pierces the air and drills itself into Keith’s ears. Both Shiro and Keith jump back as the bike shudders once before the engine dies, power lights going out, and the nose drops back to ground with a loud crash.

Shiro gives him a sheepish grin. “It’s definitely broke.”

Keith shakes his head. “Give me the screwdriver.” He holds out his hand.

Shiro places the screwdriver in his palm and Keith climbs into the seat. He faces towards the tail of the bike and unscrews the white accented plate that sits right behind the seat, catching each screw in his hand so he doesn’t lose them.

“What are you doing?” Shiro asks, coming to stand next to Keith. He peers over Keith’s arm to see what he’s doing.

“Hold these,” Keith says instead, passing Shiro the screws and the removed plate. He tucks the screwdriver between his teeth for safekeeping and peers inside the bike. A mess of wires and various components stare up at him. “Do you have a flashlight?” he mumbles around the screwdriver.

“A what?”

“Flash. Light,” he enunciates, opening and closing his fingers to mimic a light turning off and on.

“Oh, yeah!” Shiro says, gray eyes flashing in comprehension. He pulls an orange holoscreen from his jacket pocket, unlocks it, and passes it to Keith. Keith fiddles with the screen for a minute, unfamiliar with the model. His dad only had an old holoscreen with the thick casing and Keith couldn’t get one at the Home. He manages to find the flashlight button and taps it, light shining into the insides of the bike. Keith shoves a few wires out of the way and finds the problem.

He sticks his hand inside, easily maneuvering around the various components. He’s thankful his arm is skinny enough to make this quick; his dad had often had to pull the components out to fix an issue deeper inside and then put them back in. He’s elbow-deep inside the bike when his fingers brush against the problem. Taking a deep breath around the screwdriver, Keith grabs the rod and twists with all his strength. The rod lets out a low groan, moving slowly before it jumps in place with a click.

A strong shock of electricity lances its way up Keith’s arm. The screwdriver falls from his mouth with a shout as he falls back, bike shuttering to life beneath him with a whine.

“Keith!” he hears Shiro shout as he clutches at his arm.

He groans. “I’m fine, fine.” He leverages himself up with a groan, clutching his arm. It stings and aches from the electricity, but knows it’ll be fine. He shakes it out, feeling the slight soreness left over. 

“Do you need to go to the medic?” Shiro asks, grabbing his wrist.

Keith brain immediately trips over itself, stopping to focus on the feel of Shiro’s skin against his. His hand is warm, fingers rough with calluses, grip strong. Keith revels in it, finds his shoulders relaxing against his will, stress he didn’t even know he had slowly unraveling from his bones. 

Keith glances up at Shiro, finds himself staring into worried gray eyes. “I’m fine,” he responds, voice softer than he would like. 

Shiro helps him down from the now-hovering bike, keeping his grip soft but strong on his wrist and his elbow. Keith leans into the touch, soaking it up like sunlight. He wonders if this was what he was missing: someone to touch him. To show affection. 

He’s been alone for six years. The kindness of another person feels foreign. 

Feet flat on the ground, Keith turns and stares at the hoverbike. She floats a few inches above the ground, engine purring like a lion and power lights shining a bright blue. He has the fleeting thought that his dad would love to see her now. 

Shiro claps his hand on Keith’s shoulder. “You did it. Great job,” he compliments, grinning down at him. 

Keith offers a shy smile in return before ducking his head. “We need to put the panel back.”

Shiro turns the bike off and lets her settle down on the ground before he does the honors of screwing the panel back on. He slides the screwdriver back into his backpack and puts his holoscreen away. Keith gathers his jacket and turns to go.

Strong arms wrap around him and Keith panics for a minute until he realizes it’s Shiro. He’s hugging him, warm muscles pressed against Keith’s skin. The buzzing in Keith’s brain goes silent as he realizes that yeah, _he really does like Shiro’s touch._

If touch-starvation is a thing, he probably has it.

Shiro lets him go and Keith has to tuck his disappointment deep in his chest. Shiro grins at him, eyes dancing with happiness and something else. Keith doesn’t want to look too closely at that. “How did you know what to fix?” he asks, awe coloring his voice.

Keith slips on his jacket, buckling his belt into place. “My dad had one just like it. Had the same problem too.”

“Cool,” Shiro says. He grins in delight at the bike before pulling on his jacket and slinging his bag over his shoulder. He claps a hand on Keith’s shoulder, turning him towards the garage door. “If you want to go riding, I have some free time tomorrow.”

Shocked, Keith blinks up at him. “Really?” he asks warily. Shiro’s probably joking, playing a prank at the young cadet who thinks an officer likes him. Keith’s heard of hazing, but this is a new version that he’s unfamiliar with.

“Yeah,” Shiro says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He gives Keith a wink. “Now, let’s get you back to your room. I’ll be your excuse if we run into anyone.”

Keith lets Shiro lead him out of the garage with only a second of hesitation. This relationship between them may or may not turn out well, but Keith feels the memory of Shiro’s touch burn itself into his brain.

**Author's Note:**

> [ I have a tumblr!](http://isingtheskyelectric.tumblr.com)


End file.
